Small Things
by Frozen Time
Summary: She thought he didn't care. But then again, she was never one to pay attention to the smaller details in life. -dream novel-
1. January

**Title: **Small Things

**Published: **26 December, 2012

**Author: **Ribbon

**Target: **Atobe Keigo

**Author's Note: **So no, I haven't given up my other projects, nor are they on hiatus. I'm just having a difficult time trying to write what comes in later chapters, so I apologize. This story is just part of an unfinished Christmas special that I was doing for the website. There are some other chapters up, along with several other DNs, on our website, so please go and check it out! The link is in our profile. Hope you guys enjoy! Cookies to anyone who manages to pick up all the hints.

* * *

_... for diamonds do appear to be just like broken glass to me._

**i. January**

Today marks their three year anniversary.

Of being friends.

In some ways, she can't believe how long she's managed to hold friends with him. Even now, it's still hard to believe that she hasn't been discarded yet. There exist finer specimens of women out there, and he has enough money and status to lure any of them in.

She is plain. She is someone who sees less in herself than others might see in her. She is an ordinary woman, standing next to an extraordinary man. Outwardly, they look the same. They are both humans. But what lay beneath the surface, well, she prefers to keep that thought out of her mind.

He has the world on a string. She has no possessions to rival his. In fact, she didn't have much at all: only impulses and dreams, trapped beneath a layer of imperfect skin.

He is a diamond; even his rough cuts are flawless.

She is just glass: fragile; useable; replaceable.

They are strolling alongside the river. His hands are buried in his pockets. Hers are hiding in the sleeves of her oversized coat. They are silent, but the silence is comfortable. As they are walking, she glances at him. Three years, and he hasn't changed much. Her opinions of him haven't changed much, either. She knows he is Keigo, and perhaps deep inside of him he thinks the same way, but she can't stop second guessing him. She can't stop confusing the rich man Atobe with her friend Keigo. She sees him as neither a simple nor a single person beneath that perfect flesh. She cannot find Keigo beneath that façade—that suit of armor made by Atobe. Sometimes she has a hard time believing Keigo even exists.

It's kind of impossible to believe that Atobe Keigo has flaws. It is difficult to see through him or into him, because diamonds are only meant to be looked at. Yes, everyone stares at Atobe Keigo, not through him to see the man pulling his strings, or into him to see Keigo struggling, floundering, drowning in the need to conform, desiring something more. She likes to think she is one of the only few who can see this—who chooses to see this.

She wonders silently if it's freedom he wants. When it comes to true liberty, Atobe Keigo is a poor man, confined by the manacles of expectations.

"And here's to another year ahead of us." She says, looking lopsidedly up at Keigo. He looks back down at her, any hints of a smile or a grimace masked only by his muffler. He isn't wearing his armor tonight, so she knows that she is walking alongside Keigo, not Atobe.

The mentions of another year does not bring him great joy. "Three hundred and sixty-five days more."

"Well, think about it. We've lived through..." She counts her fingers, and takes a while at doing it.

Keigo is faster than her. "Nine thousand, four hundred and ninety-six."

She smiles at him. "Here's to day nine thousand, four hundred and ninety-seven."

The conversation starts to slacken off, as does their pace. Keigo decides to stray off the pathway and moves towards the river. He reaches out to touch the rail—at first, tentatively. Then pulls himself closer towards the divide between him and the riverbed.

She joins him, tempted to remain wordless in his presence. She is about to willingly succumb to her mind's desires when Keigo breaks the silence and murmurs, "What will one hope to accomplish in three hundred and sixty-six days?"

"Apparently, this year is the end of the world."

He looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. "Wouldn't that be nice, for things to be wrapped up so easily."

She grins at him. "Are you asking yourself what you want to accomplish, or—what?"

For a moment, he pauses. "What will you do this year?"

She leans against the fence, folding her arms over the top and leaning out over the river. "Well, I don't have to think too far ahead. I can go anywhere with hospitality, you know?" Her body tingles as she breathes in the crisp, winter air. She loves winter because it is the only thing that makes the Tokyo air fresh. She likes the night because she doesn't have to see the hard edges of the buildings—only their blurred outlines, and their artificial lights decorating the horizon. Those lights are as close as the city will get to seeing stars. "One day, I'll get out of this place. Somewhere that's more than just skyline, and has stars, and where the air is fresh—not just because of the cold... and a place that has _space_..."

She gives him a sidelong look and discovers that he is already looking at her.

He doesn't respond directly to her desire to move elsewhere. She has mentioned several times to him that she wants to see more than this city, and he doesn't seem fond of her idea.

So he changes the subject. "I thought you wanted to be a writer."

His words are unintentionally piercing. Her eyes flicker away. "Not really. I mean, there's not exactly much in a career for a writer, you know? We're all—no, _they're_ all—struggling to support themselves with words on a page."

If he notices the sad twitch in her smile, he doesn't comment on it. "Some of the most famous people in the world are writers."

"But they're good writers. There's a difference." She points out. When Keigo doesn't respond, she shrugs. "I guess it would be fun to get some writings published every now and then, but I can't make a living off playing roulette. There's nothing more I can do but go forward. Up isn't my concern."

_Up._ He takes that the wrong way and scoffs. "Not everyone is the same, simple-minded person as you."

If he intended to make a stab at her, she doesn't react that way. "No, maybe not, but that's a good thing. We're all individuals in this world. Including you."

"Oh? Enlighten me. What should I aim to accomplish this year?"

"Make a break for freedom." She says. "You can feel infinite in a single moment. It isn't something that you have to work towards... it's more like a reward."

He sighs at her. "Your imagination is as unfathomable as it is make believe."

"You're just a realist." She says. "You know, I'm not saying that it's a bad thing to be realistic, but if you live the same way for the rest of your life, then there's no fun in living, is there? A change in pace will do you good."

She waits for him to snort at her, or do something equally theatrical. But he doesn't. He just stays quiet, perhaps taking her words into consideration, or perhaps refraining from rebuking her. Personally, she thinks it's neither. She can almost hear the words he is inches from saying: _You will never understand what it means to live in confines._

She answers him silently: _You will never understand what it is to be free, as long as you continue to live in your shell. There are one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day, you know..._

Keigo's eyes distance out over the river, and she can't help but stare. She knows that as the year comes to pass, he will only retreat further into his shell. He will only immerse himself in work, so as to blind himself from the exit to freedom.

There is something she has wanted to ask him for a long time, but she could never quite find the way to translate her thoughts into words. Besides, she's not sure how Keigo will take it.

She hesitates, but ventures. "Diamonds are just like broken glass..."

He looks at her questioningly, wondering if she's mumbling to herself or attempting to strike up a conversation with him.

"They're both transparent. They have rough edges. They sparkle." She goes on. "So why do we see more value in diamonds?"

He quirks his eyebrow at her. "Diamonds originate from volcanoes. Broken glass usually results from children with rocks near windows."

"So their worth is based on where they come from?"

If Keigo is curious, he isn't questioning the nature of this conversation. "Alright." He says. "Alright, what happens after the glass is broken? Is it to say that broken glass can fix itself? That diamonds can rust?"

She begins to regret spilling her mind. But she doesn't stop. "If you're messed up, you stay messed up. If you're rich, you stay rich. The words of a realist."

He begins to look tired of her presence. Well, of course: it's New Year. He probably wants to enjoy a nice night out, and he picked her to be his company, expecting an honest person who will let him forget who he is: not an honest person who reminds him of what's at hand.

"They look similar, don't you think?" She is wincing, but she doesn't stop. After all, she's come this far; she may as well hear the answer she wants to hear. "Diamonds and broken glass."

His eyebrow is unfaltering. "Certainly everything lacks perfect symmetry."

"Yeah. We all have a different cut." The her tense smile begins to fade. Well, at least she knows that it's not perfection he's aiming for. To meet expectations, maybe. But nothing is as bad as meeting perfection. "Well, I seem to have gotten extremely sidetracked. I'm sorry."

She sees him relax by the smallest of fractions.

"Happy New Year, Keigo."

He doesn't answer her verbally, instead responding by tilting his head in her direction. His eyes are fixated on the stars in the sky. Slowly, his gaze falls to the surface of the river, where the reflection of the sky is distorted by the river currents. She wonders what is running through his mind at that moment.

"I wonder." He says under his breath.

She doesn't know what he's talking about.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_December 26, 2012._


	2. February

**Title: **Small Things

**Published: **23 January, 2013

**Author: **Ribbon

**Target: **Atobe Keigo

**Author's Note: **Just realized I haven't been updating FanFiction as much as I should have, so I'm attempting to put all the stories that we have on our site onto here. Sorry about the lull in updating. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year!

* * *

_... would it be alright if we just sat and talked for a little while  
if in exchange for your time, I give you this smile?_

**ii. February**

She's never been one for counting, but she can't help it. It's months away, but she can't stop counting down the days till the end of the year. The number of days left is still disappointingly high, but she perseveres. It's growing smaller each day. That, on some level, is reassuring.

She's also never been one for the spirit of February. It is around this time of year that the scene outside the Quiescent becomes overpopulated by young teenagers. She can't help but raise an eyebrow at many of the young couples and their so-defined 'blossoming romances.' She doesn't doubt that some of them will last, but she figures that most of them won't.

Then she reminds herself that she can't talk. A sheepish smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she lowers her coffee cup. It's nice to see that people are trying to fulfill their hopes in love and life instead of mooning around like her.

She nods at the life on the street. "It's a sight, don't you think?"

Keigo is in one of his rare, good moods today. She hasn't seen him like this for a while—but, then again, she hasn't seen him in a while, either. She remembers last year (when they first conceived the idea to have these meetings), Keigo's attendance rate decreased over the months, and instead of expecting him for lunch one day, she would have been forced to anticipate his sporadic appearances. She hopes the same thing won't happen again this year.

He is raising an eyebrow at her. She realizes this when his cup clinks back onto his saucer. "Would you like to join in?" To remind her, he nods at the street life.

She dismisses him with a wave of her hand—a good-humored mock of his social standing. Privately, though, she wished that she _could_ wave off her desire to do so. "No, it's okay. It's not my kind of thing."

He folds his arms over the table, leaning in to make himself comfortable. She refrains from letting this gesture get to her (and to her face in particular). "I see. And will there ever be a moment in your life when you let yourself do something fun?"

"Are you giving me a chance to do something fun?"

She can see his eyebrow twitching as he resists the temptation to say, _'I am a fun person.'_ She knows that they will both end up laughing at him, so he doesn't say it. A wise move on his part.

"Honestly speaking, milord," she says, "I don't need fun when I have you to grace me with your presence."

He considers this. "Point."

She laughs. It's refreshing to hear Keigo make a joke and to be able to laugh with him over it. It isn't like Atobe Keigo to be so free. "How modest of you." She says. "Though, why do you comment on the nature of my eventless life when you're the one sharing it with me?"

He either doesn't take the hint or he ignores it. She hopes inwardly that it isn't the latter.

"I feel partial to accompany your poor, withering soul on Valentine's Day." He says simply, sipping the contents of his cup. It's Earl Grey; he likes ordering that here, demanding that, too, she make it for him. "I doubt you'll have anyone else to spend it with this year."

"Something else I have to change in the next three hundred and twenty-two days, I suppose." She says, leaning out of the conversation. She raises her coffee cup to drink, and from behind its defenses, she roves a subtle eye over Keigo. Despite the life in his voice, the sleep rimming his eyes is still present, and the exhaustion written into his pallid skin is unmistakable.

Despite his exterior, however, he hasn't lost his sharp intuition. Noticing her wandering eyes, he quirks an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Nothing." She says, shaking her head. Inwardly, she wants to know if there's anything she can do for him; after all, he is always doing something for her. At heart, she thinks, he is still too much of a child. He takes on the weights of unimaginable worlds—of the people in whose footsteps he is meant to be following. She wonders what kind of man he would be now if he followed the path undesired by his father.

He snaps his fingers. "Takatsuki."

She remembers the time he used to call her by her first name.

"Keigo."

"Something's on your mind."

"I'm just thinking." She shrugs. Of course something's on her mind! There's always something on her mind. And even though Keigo can probably see right through her, she doesn't want to talk to him about it. So, in order to save herself, she tries to change the subject. "But really. Don't you have a woman you should be tending to today?"

The teacup halts at his lips. He's looking at her as if she suddenly became a rancid caricature of her former self.

"What? The ladies flock to you—there's no sense in denying it."

"If I had someone to tend to, do you really think I would be here, wasting my time on Your Loneliness?" He has that smirk on his face as he steers their conversation back on track. For a moment, she wonders if Keigo is trying to drop a hint or if she's just over-thinking it. She is flattered nonetheless. "Is there someone that _you_ should be tending to?"

"If I did, Your Highness, I would hardly be sitting here with you. I think we established this earlier."

"I see." He says. "So the both of us just have too much free time. This, I presume, means that I can expect something from you? Seeing as the both of us are here. On Valentine's Day. With no one but each other."

Keigo is not one for assuming things that he doesn't believe to be true, but this time, she isn't quite sure if he _really knows_ or if he's just making fun of her. While she manages to (somehow) refrain from squirming under his unrelenting gaze, she expects that she must look uncomfortable to him. She doesn't want to tell him outright that yes, he should be expected something, and would he like her to fork it over now, and he'd better like sweet things because she spent far too long on that thing for her liking.

She silently hopes that he will let the matter drop. But he doesn't, as expected.

"Well?"

"The, um, tea's on me."

"You were never a good liar, Takatsuki."

"So the weather's great today—"

He just looks at her expectantly. She hesitates, but then sighs—a sign that she's given in.

"Don't expect too much, though, okay?" She reaches for her bag on the ground and sits it on her lap, determined to delay The Moment of Revelation for as long as possible. As she rifles through her bag's contents, she can feel Keigo's stare burning into her, and with another sigh—an inward one, this time—she guesses he's getting his hopes up. His eyes follow her movements as she finally takes something out—a box with a card taped to the front—and grudgingly forks it over.

He takes it, fingers brushing against hers in the process. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if he did it on purpose.

"May I open it?" He asks.

"Sure, when you get home."

"And if I decide to open it now?"

She vigorously shakes her head to express her feelings on this decision, but he decides that her opinion on this matter equates to a grain of salt. He peels the card off the box, smirking at her wan face. He seems to have, somewhere along the line, eased into his personality from three years ago—the one she remembers 'befriending.' She bites her lip as he pulls out the contents of the envelope—a piece of paper with a fountain pen-inscribed message on it—and inspects it.

She mumbles something.

"What is it?" He asks, taking pleasuring in seeing her squirm.

"It's nothing."

"It's something, or I'm Catholic."

She looks sheepishly at him. "Well... I didn't think you'd like store-bought chocolate, and cash is a luxury for me, so... I thought I'd get creative and put some soul into this."

He is squinting, like he doesn't believe what she's saying. "It's homemade." He says finally. Then he pauses. Both of them know what she's like in the kitchen. Well, it's not like she's clumsy, and she knows how to follow a recipe. It's just that she doesn't do it often enough to convince him that she's a decent cook. "Will this kill me?"

She laughs nervously. It actually might. "Hardly, sister. But it's your choice whether you're actually going to eat it or not."

He chooses to thank her instead of acknowledging that comment. He sets the box aside and tells her he will get back to her on how it tastes. And if he doesn't, he's probably dead.

Then he looks at the paper, quirking an eyebrow at it. "And this is...?"

From that point onwards, she's rendered incapable of looking him in the eye. "Something to set me apart, I guess."

He is surprised by her sudden... compliance, if she can put it that way. His eyes fall to read the note, and in her head, she recites it off by heart:

_"Flowers don't grow for you  
And you wonder why  
Your calls are empty  
To all but the sky.  
Time moves. Let it  
unbind the coils of your mind;  
And ease the tension of your emotions confined;  
Fly blind; let yourself go;  
Feed your desire; that wanting to know.  
Fate moves. Let it  
remind you that desires will bleed in your hand  
If perfection is your one and lonely demand."_

She registers that out of the corner of her eye, he is looking at her. She is too afraid to meet his gaze. She had honest-to-God never meant for the poem to wind up like that. She'd started off with some poem about freedom and birds, and then sometime after that she was slipping the poem into an envelope and taping it to the box of chocolates.

He slips the paper back into the envelope and sets it on top of the box. "It's not that simple."

She stifles a sigh and keeps from saying anything more.

"You realize how shallow you're coming off as right now?"

She shrugs.

He leans out. "You knew it was coming, unless you were high when you wrote this." He waves the poem.

She shrugs. She knew it was coming; she wasn't going to deny that.

His eyebrow is still quirked. "You're not exactly a dream catcher yourself."

"You said yourself that you wanted to be a tennis player." She mumbles. She knows how much Keigo hates it when she brings it up, but it's already out there, and he's already flinched. "I've seen you play, too. I've seen how good you are and I've seen all the titles you've won. You're good at what you want to do, and at what you don't want to do, too. You can make the leap from business to tennis with ease."

For a moment, there is silence.

Keigo breaks it. "You said you wanted to be a writer."

This time, she flinches. "I said I liked writing. I never said I was good at it."

Neither of them are eager to make the next remark.

Then Keigo sighs. She thinks silently that now is probably one of the worst times to pick on Keigo's repressed dreams. "Dreams are something that are out of both our reaches. You claim that you're too untalented to be a writer. Fine, then; let it go."

"Okay, I will. I guess since you're too busy to be a tennis player, you should stick to being a businessman."

They stare at each other.

Keigo remembers that his only obstacle to escaping the Quiescent is his unfinished tea. He picks up his cup again and sips.

Forty-five days, she thinks, and there has been a definite change in Keigo. Or maybe he's been like this for a while, and she just hasn't noticed it. This double-sided Keigo... the divide is clearer than it was before. Is it to do with his family (not that he ever cared that much about them)? Or some change in his lifestyle? His friends? None of the factors strike her as exactly life-changing.

She wonders if it's business-related.

Or dream-related.

Before Keigo can pointedly notice her wandering eyes, she diverts her attention to the remnants of her cappuccino, finding the rim of foam near the top suddenly fascinating. God forbid if Keigo manages to break into her mind. Even if she is only a minor predicament in his great, great life, she doesn't want him to be aware of it—not yet.

There are better people out there for him, she thinks—people who don't middle with the grand design of his life. People that aren't like her. She knows she shouldn't be doing it, but she hates seeing him trapped behind those bars. She knows she needs to stop doing his, but she can't.

Her eyes wander and settle on the café clock. She has another fifteen minutes left on her break. "I should get back to work soon."

"A fine idea." He says, glancing at his own wristwatch. He deliberately puts their conversation from moments ago behind him, though she doubts he's shallow enough to have forgotten about it or to have let it go. He finishes the last of his tea and leaves a bill on the table. "I'll return to work. Expect a call later."

There isn't much point in coaxing him to stay a little longer; he is already packing up and on his feet. She herself jumps to her feet, swiping the bill up in her hand. "Wait—let me cash this out, I'll bring your change—"

He shakes his head, cutting her off abruptly. It is only then she realizes that maybe Keigo is late in getting back to work. "Keep the change for yourself."

"Keigo—"

"I'll call you later."

He offers her no smile in compensation for his abrupt leave, but she doesn't expect him to—especially not after what she wrote on the paper. He just hurries away after saying a final goodbye, to which she mutters in response, "Bye, Keigo. Thanks for paying, and yeah, it was great seeing you again."

She doesn't expect he'll find out how long it took her to make the chocolates, really, or how many attempts she made at it. Just briefly, she allows herself a cold smile.

He doesn't look back at her as he hails his oncoming driver. When it pulls up beside him, he climbs into the limousine. He used to roll down the window and snap his fingers at her when he drove past, but this time, he doesn't. He just cruises out of sight, back to a place where he belongs.

It's wrong to expect anything from him—even the spare change (that might equate to her daily pay) that he lets her keep. It's none of her business to change him back. He has his own affairs to tend to, and she has hers.

_I must be kidding myself._

She doesn't blame Keigo for putting up a front. But she hates seeming him like that: as an Atobe. She thinks he's stupid for pretending to be someone he's not. At least she's not pretending... she's just... hiding...

Inwardly, she scoffs at herself. As if that's an improvement.

* * *

She tries not to be disappointed when he doesn't call her that night.

He's busy. She knows. She understands. She doesn't even blame him.

* * *

When she gets a call three days later, she doesn't stifle the hope that it's Keigo. She'll pick up the phone and he'll apologize for calling so late. She'll forgive him and apologize for the things she shouldn't have done and said. She'll tell him that she won't interfere with his life anymore.

She checks her caller ID. It's her brother.

She tries to make herself lighten up. She hasn't talked to her brother since last week. "Hey, what's cooking?"

"Me? Cooking? That's possibly the worst idea you've conceived yet. And you've conceived some pretty bad ones before."

She jokes, "So have you. You still have three living reminders of them."

He laughs. "My ex-wife might be a devil, but would you blame my children for my mistakes? You're horrible! We're through, and I'm hanging up now!"

Amused, she says, "Okay, whatever you say."

He hangs up, but calls again a few minutes later to continue the conversation. It's as if he hadn't hung up on her a moment ago. "So, darling, are we still set for May? I wanted to make sure everything is in order before I give the reins to Kagura."

She has no idea what he's talking about. "What?"

He sighs. "I knew you would forget."

"What's happening again?"

"Ireland's happening? You said you've been wanting this for years."

She thinks, and slowly begins to remember snippets of their conversation from last year, when they decided they both needed a break. At that time, Kotarou's then-wife was always around the world on business trips, never home—not even after a messy divorce. Kotarou had said that that was it; he was going to take a break the next opportunity he got. She remembers how he called her to ask if she wanted to go with him on a holiday somewhere, and she said yes. He asked her where, and she told him that she's always wanted to go to Ben Bulben. They could go and visit the place near where their mother was buried beneath the tree of her Irish Gaelic heritage.

"I booked the tickets a year ago, because it would have been a nightmare to get a cheap flight during Golden Week this year." He says. "I said it was going to be our birthday present, remember?"

"Our birthday isn't until September."

"I know. But Golden Week's the longest break anyone in the country gets. I want to feel the magic of Ireland for as long as I can." He says. "Get me excited for this."

"Okay, wait..." He's always asking her to do this. Kotarou is possibly the only person in her life who encourages her to be a writer (even still) rather than discourage her or mock her like everyone else does. It is only around him that she feels comfortable expressing herself like this: "'Ireland is a cathartic place—a whereabouts for your spirit to unwind; a space unburdened by the early morning cries of bad conceptions—'"

"Very funny." He says, sound amusing. "But also very true."

"Sssh, let me go on. 'A space unburdened by the early morning cries of bad conceptions and, instead, a space that echoes the cooing of early-rising birds. Over Ben Bulben whispers the soft requiem that they sing for your lost dreams. A horn sounds, and by the blessing of Gaelic tongues, your desires return home to you.'"

"Be a poet already."

"'The land hushes as dusk falls, deeps and lightens. Your defenses fall. You freeze as the man you are. Realization dawns upon you. It is here, in great Ireland, where for your dreams doth recovery begin.' There, I'm done."

She hears him applauding on the other end of the line. "Well done, cherub."

"Thank you. I hope you're looking forward to Ireland as much as I am."

She hopes she likes it as much as she wants to, too. She needs reassurance that one day, Japan will be left far behind in her mind, along with everything within it—even her last connection to Japan—before she is too old to remember how to count how many days she has left.

Her eyes close. She can only think of one other thing tying her down to this place.

But he will probably delight in letting her go.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_January 23, 2013._


	3. March

**Title: **Small Things

**Published: **24 January, 2013

**Author: **Ribbon

**Target: **Atobe Keigo

**Author's Note: **This story is such a pain to write. LOL.

* * *

_... take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain.  
I'd like it a lot more than you think  
if the sun would come out and sing with me._

**iii. March**

He is busy most of the time. His text messages are the only way she knows he is still alive—text messages saying that he can't make breakfast today, he has a meeting; he can't make lunch today, he has work to do. She doesn't remember the last time they sat down at the Quiescent and talked about absolutely nothing. Then again, she still can't tell if he's avoiding her or not. She wonders if it's safe to be second guessing him.

But it isn't the first time he deliberately isolates himself. When she oversteps herself, Keigo will initiate a 'cooling down period' (for her benefit or his, she doesn't know.). He will break all means of communication until he thinks he's alright to hang around her again. She isn't sure if it's really her, or if there's some personal reason that he does that.

That's why she hasn't told him yet—that because her mind has too much free time and her sense of realism has gone on an early holiday, she's been thinking more and more about what she wants to do. She's been thinking about their conversation on New Year's Day, when they were discussing where they wanted to go in life. She likes the café, but she don't know how long she can picture herself working there. She wants to go somewhere far away from home, even if it takes her over the seas.

She especially doesn't want to tell him that she's over the ocean to visit her dreams. See how they're doing.

Briefly, she wonders what Keigo _will_ say if or when she ever tells him. She wonders if he'll care that much, or if he'll be too busy to notice. Maybe it won't even bother him, because he can just fly over to visit her in one of his private jets. If he wants.

She sighs. She's over-thinking it again.

She gets a phone call later once. It's Keigo, wanting to invite her out to dinner on White Day, since he wasn't able to make most (if not all) of their breakfast and lunch meetings. (He apologies for being unable to do so, which surprises her. This is a first.) On White Day, he tells her, he has a substantial amount of business to attend to, and he needs a way to unwind at the end of the day—something to look forward to.

"You're a busy man, Keigo." She says. "You don't need to apologize for being busy."

He doesn't respond to her directly. "Dinner?"

"Sure, love to." She says. She needs to talk to him anyway. "Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

"I don't really mind..."

But he knows her too well. "You pick."

They settle on that small Italian restaurant that she likes—the one that she and Kotarou go to when he turns up to her apartment out of the blue, and he already ate the leftovers in her fridge while she was at work. Keigo has been there a few times, so he doesn't question her choice. He just tells her that he'll finish work at seven, and he can pick her up afterwards. She assures him to take his time; she can find her own way there after the Quiescent closes for the night.

"Call me if you need a ride."

"Will do. See you tonight."

Then they hang up, because Keigo has to go.

They end up meeting outside the Italian place at around eight. She takes her time in getting there, but it turns out she's ten minutes earlier than Keigo. She doesn't mind; it's only ten minutes.

He gets out of the car and tells her to close her eyes instead of actually greeting her. She can only do what she is told. Her eyes shut, but her sensations are still as active as ever. She feels his fingers graze her wrist, along with something else cool and smooth to her skin. When he tells her to open her eyes, she looks down at her wrist.

Her stare is caught.

He looks satisfactorily smug by her reaction. "Happy White Day."

She shows him her disbelieving eyes, but he doesn't seem too fazed. "How much did this cost you?" She asks, motioning to the string of pearls around her wrist. Maybe it isn't worth much to him, but anything over five thousand yen is amazing for her.

"Not much." He says as he puts an arm around her shoulder and guides her into the restaurant. He is amused by her entrancement. They walk inside, and Keigo says to the man collecting reservations, "Reservation under Takatsuki."

They put it under her name to avoid attracting any attention to themselves. She guesses that many people would probably recognize Keigo's surname. But he is considerably docile as an entrepreneur, so few people will recognize him by appearance. So long as he restricts himself from wearing ridiculously flamboyant clothing. They both need a normal night tonight.

Besides, she is a regular here. They recognize her name, and she recognizes theirs.

They sit opposite each other at a window-side booth. The view is not striking, but she doesn't mind. She is here for the food and company, not the aesthetics. Keigo keeps his opinions (should there be any existing in his head) to himself.

"How have you been?" He asks—an attempt to break her wandering attention. He doesn't bring up the fact that it has been twenty-six days since they last saw each other (nearly a full month), but treats the situation casually.

"Okay." She says. She doesn't mention Ireland just yet. "What about you?"

"Busy." He says. Then he lapses into silence. She guesses he doesn't want to talk about work, and that he would want it to be their last resort as a conversational topic right now. She doesn't push him.

She ensures that they have ordered and are almost finishing their meals before she initiates some small talk. She needs to tell him sooner or later what his plans for the future are, and she figures that if she tells him later, the reception will be even less well received. She has thought about how she would bring the matter up to Keigo over the meal, but is still indecisive. Should she slip it into the conversation? Bring it straight out? Work up to it?

She decides to wing it. See how much further it gets her.

"So... you have two hundred and ninety-two days left in the year." She says. He quirks an eyebrow at her—a gesture insisting that she go on. "Have you thought about how you'll spend them?"

He tries to occupy himself with the last of his meal. "Are you bringing up this conversation again?" He asks detachedly.

"No." She says, refraining from saying the opposite. This time, she should at least try to hold her tongue. "I just... I had a thought, so I thought you might have had one, too."

This is when he lowers his fork, realizing she is trying to drop a hint. He looks at her, somewhat... enamored by her unsaid words. "You've thought about what you want to do with your life?"

"Sort of. I mean, I don't exactly see myself working at the Quiescent forever." She says, trying to keep a smiling front.

He finishes the last of his meal and sets down his fork and fixes his attention on her. She is grateful for the bowl of chicken fettuccine she can hide behind, and the fact that she spent her time thinking instead of eating tonight.

"It's more like where I dream of being, not how I get from Point A to Point B..."

"Go on."

She shrugs, twirling the fettuccine absently around her fork. "I thought I'd go back to working in a restaurant. I need a change of scenery. Maybe I'll be a waitress, or be a cook." She cooks, too. "Maybe I'll own my own."

"You're not going to be a writer?"

She stares at him. She's not sure if he brought it up intentionally, or unwillingly, or absently. Just twenty-nine days ago, he told her to give up on being a writer, so he—more than anyone—should know that she is not going to let herself become a writer.

And yet, he's looking at her like he expects an answer from her—like he's waiting for her to change her mind and say that yes, she _is_ going to become a writer, and where has he been for the past month when she was trying to tell him that.

"I still like writing." She says. "I could still write, if I wanted to. All I'm doing is shifting the focus to what I can _actually_ achieve in life."

He doesn't look like he believes her. He is right to.

She shrugs. "It's not that big a deal, anyway. I can't see myself writing full time."

"So? Why the big introduction?" He asks. "You want to work at a restaurant. There are a multitude of them here, and will continue to be for decades into the future."

"Unless the world ends this year."

"All you need to secure your dreams are a CV and an interview."

Here goes, she thinks. "Well... I was thinking about trying somewhere new."

He pauses. It's like he's not sure what she means. "A different scope?" He pauses. "A different district?"

She delays the awkward moment of elaborating upon Keigo's guess by feeding some more fettuccine into her mouth.

He is growing anxious. "Another city?"

When she doesn't look at him directly, it seems to finally click.

"Another country?" He doesn't sound as shocked as she imagined. He is maintaining his calm well, if there is anything at all to maintain. "Where?"

She has known Keigo for three years, but they never talk much about their personal life because Keigo likes to think he doesn't have one. He doesn't know about her connection to Ireland, and they never talked about her family there because Keigo doesn't like his much. He doesn't know that her parents have probably already passed away and doesn't talk about his because he probably wishes his would, too, so that he would finally be free of his father's domain. He certainly doesn't know that she has a brother, either, because Keigo doesn't have any siblings and doesn't like reinforcing the fact that he is an only child. "I don't know..."

He is diving into her words, not realizing that the pool is shallow. "You'll leave Japan?"

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I don't even know how I'll get there."

But she knows that if she wants to move to Ireland, it won't be that hard. She has family over there and she knows them, when she in her small seven-year-old frame went over to meet them with her mother. She can speak English well enough to get by, and she'll only get better at it if she settles down there. She could probably settle any other trivial matters with the help of her family and unfound friends.

Keigo is silent, and it's starting to scare her a little bit that she can't read his mind. She usually can't, but at the very least, she can pick up signs in his face. Now, he is completely distant. He doesn't even realize that when she said she had a dream, she meant it was a dream with foundations in progress—nothing more to it. It could be thirty, forty years before she moves over there, to retire or something. As she is now, she still questions her capabilities overseas, and how she would fare adapting to customs and cultures that she is not altogether familiar with. She doesn't know how much the ordeal will cost her or how much paperwork is involved in the process of moving.

She wants to make it clear to Keigo that, for the moment, she is not moving, and she won't until preparations are made. But he seems stunned enough, and she can't seem to break him. "Um...Keigo? There's a lot of preparations involved in moving—you know that, right?" She can't help but feel anxious, and it's probably showing up in her face right now. "It's probably years away. It's not like I'm going tomorrow, you know?"

He mumbles agreement, but says nothing more. He does not even try to continue the conversation. He is not in the mood to talk anymore.

When they finish, he pays for the both of them and takes her home. He says he'll call her later, but doesn't say when.

She's not sure whether to believe him or not.

_- x -_

"Hey, sunshine. How's the weather up north?"

When she gets a call a few days later, she gives up guessing that it might be Keigo. She's been waiting days for him to mention that yes, he's still alive, or at least answer to her text message with some kind of meaningless combination of words, just so that she knows he's still alive.

She guesses it's Kotarou. She's right.

"Hey. It's all shine up here. You know the spring weather."

"Good for you."

"How's babysitting?"

He mumbles something she can't catch, and then, "They're Satan's angels. Though I could do with a break. I have all the details of our flights and the like here with me." He says. She starts to get off the couch to scrounge around for a pen and paper, but he reads her mind through the phone. "And don't get up, precious. I'll text the info to you afterwards, too."

She smiles. There's never been a moment when she's ungrateful for being related to Kotarou. "Okay, thanks."

"No problem. We're on the nine-ten a.m. flight from Narita to Dublin on the first of April. I'll freeload off you for a night, and then we can find some means of transportation to the airport. Maybe pick up breakfast on the way. Sound good?"

Kotarou always likes to decide what's happening without asking. She doesn't mind too much, since it means she doesn't have to do the preparations. When they first moved away from each other, he would try to organize sleepovers every weekend. Most of them started off with all-night video game marathons and ended with phone calls from Kotarou's then-girlfriend. And zero hours of sleep. She likes his company even more now that he's not attached to Satan in the form of a living, breathing human.

"Sounds good." She says decisively. "When will you be coming?"

"Depends. When do you finish?"

"My last day is on the twenty-seventh. The Quiescent is closed for about two weeks, since my boss is heading north to visit her family."

"Good, because our stay is for a week exactly. It'll give you some time to come home and sit in a dark corner while you recover from culture shocks."

She smiles. He's always saying strange things.

"So, the twenty-seventh... what day is that?" He asks, veering back on track.

"It should be a Wednesday"

He mutters something on the end of the line. She thinks she catches, _'… is a Friday…'_

"Sorry—what?"

"Expect me on the twenty-ninth."

"Done."

They talk for a little while. It's been like this for years—ever since they moved away from each other. As soon as they finished high school, Kotarou moved to Tokyo to study and she went to Kyoto. When she finally followed him into the big city, he left for an immediate job offer in Kobe and he's been there ever since. More times than often, they just Skype each other, since it's easier than visiting. But more times than sometimes, Kotarou will go out of his way and surprise her when she comes home from work.

There was a period when sometimes, Kotarou called her nonstop to talk about his problems with his then wife, or just things that were on his mind. Sometimes he just called because he was bored or lonely. Other times, he just dialed her number instinctively and waited for something magical to happen.

She would call him when she just needed someone to talk to, because these days, Keigo is so busy that she doesn't see him for months at a time.

It's nice that she's always been so close to Kotarou. He was there when their parents slowly trickled out, and likewise, she was there for him. She values Kotarou's companionship more than she might ever value anyone else's.

It's a scary thought that she might end up moving away from Kotarou, and thinking about it happening fills her with a detachedness of sorts. She wonders if he'll ever follow her to Ireland or if he'll stay here. She reminds himself that he has three growing children, and it might be easier for them to stay in Japan.

They chat until late in the night, and Kotarou remarks that he should probably put his children to bed before they collapse waiting for him. "I must fly, cherub. I'll call you again soon."

"Okay."

They say good night, and then hang up.

She gets a text a few moments letter with all the flight information Kotarou told her about before. It is signed with a _'sleep well'_ and a smiley face.

_- x -_

There was a texting waiting from Keigo, asking her if she was free tonight. When she responded by saying she wasn't, he called. Told her to be ready in five minutes. Then he appeared at her apartment, and didn't even mention where they were going until they got there.

It was the riverside that they arrived at, in all its cold, nightly glory. They haven't been here since January, and she wonders if there's a reason for them being here or if it's just Keigo being Keigo. She asks what the occasion is tonight. He replies, "The celebration of my existence."

Keigo isn't always this impulsive or secretive, but he is sometimes. There are some nights where he is about to crack under the pressure of his mammoth to-do list, so he decides to throw it away from a few hours. Sometimes he'll pick her up and they'll go somewhere quiet, like the riverside here or some restaurant that's still open. Sometimes they'll just go somewhere where they can look over the city and stare at the skyline. Keigo owns a hotel in Minato, so sometimes they'll go to his penthouse and just chill for a little while.

More times than often, he takes her to the riverside. She likes to avoid it in the winter, because cold wind off cold water isn't the most pleasant combination in the middle of a cold season. But Keigo likes coming here when it's chilly out, so maybe that's why he wanted to come out tonight. He says that the cold air is fresh and numbing, which is something he doesn't get to feel often.

There is little talk between them tonight; just unspoken thoughts and words. She isn't picking things up from Keigo right now, but she doesn't exactly blame him for bottling up. She hasn't told him about Ireland yet, thought she doesn't know if he will notice her disappearance or not. A week is fairly insignificant in comparison to a month.

She feels it's not exactly right to give Keigo more things to think about than he already has. He's getting better every day at learning how to relinquish his unwanted burdens. She remembers when she first met him, he was a glass bottle of water in a freezer waiting to explode. Giving it some thought, she realizes that she hasn't paid much attention to Keigo's lifestyle improvements, but looking at the Keigo from now and the Keigo from back then, there's a large, noticeable gap in stress levels.

As Keigo leans against the rails, she notes that he is still in his work clothes. She wonders if she should ask how work was today.

He reads her mind. "Hectic today," he says, his falling to the remnants of stars in the rippling sky. He is beginning by making small talk.

She wonders where he's going with this. Is it what she thinks it is? "Worse than usual?"

"Not as bad." He says. "It's been worse before. There is a small relaxation period towards the beginning of Golden Week."

Ah, yes. There it is. "Oh. Are you getting time off?"

He sighs. "A day or two, perhaps. But a week of nationally declared holidays isn't going to change the fact that I'll reach the end of the tunnel eventually. Woe is me."

She smiles. "You could be a poet."

For a fleeting moment, she thinks she sees him return the gesture. "Melancholy is my forte, and thus my life is detailed poetry in motion."

She laughs at him, and she sees his shoulders begin to relax. He seems at ease, which is good to see. It is rare for a realist such as he to forget that matters still remain to be attended to.

"Are they giving you time off at the Quiescent?" Keigo asks. He is cutting to the chase.

"Two weeks." She admits after a pause. She neglects to mention that she is leaving for Ireland with her brother when it's the first day of May. She prays inwardly that Keigo will ask for her company on a day she is actually in the country, if he asks her at all. "My boss is going up north."

"When are you free?"

She grins. "For what, exactly?"

"Just spare one evening of your time. That's all I'm asking for."

"You're always asking for evenings. What's the occasion?"

He thinks. He's already used 'the celebration of my existence.' But that doesn't bother him. "The celebration of my existence."

"I thought that's what we were celebrating now."

"It should be celebrated every month. It should be a national holiday."

She laughs again, and sobers. "But there's another reason, isn't there?"

"Ahn?"

"That we're here."

He is silent.

She can't stop smiling. "This is the day we met for the very first time."

He confirms this with the inclination of his head. She can't believe he remembered.

All she remembers is that it involved an engagement party and the drinks table, and how she remembers thinking that it probably wasn't a coincidence that the both of them happened to be there at the same time. "That was the first time we were acquainted."

He coughs lightly. "I was standing there, and you were squinting at me. That does not count as being acquainted."

"Neither does asking someone if they've had too much to drink." She says, remembering how Keigo asked her that, and she raised an eyebrow at him. She is possibly the reason he does that so much these days; he mocked her so much that it actually became a habit that she lost and he won. "Seriously, I thought I knew you from somewhere, and not necessarily by your entrepreneurial title."

"Are the finer details that important?"

"You started it." She says childishly. She lapses back into the adult her. "Things have come a long way since then."

"It's not surprising." Keigo lies.

"Oh, I see." She teases, leaning into the chain link. "So it was fate, was it?"

He grimaces. Had this been in the first six months of their friendship, he could have said, "You address me so freely," in a sarcastic way. But as time went on, he let her off the hook with a frown, or a quirked eyebrow, or a sigh. It depended on what the situation was. She finds it amusing how Keigo has backed off so completely from his former, overly-defensive self.

"Well," she says when he does not respond, "coincidence or not, I'm glad I met you."

He looks at her, surprised by her forwardness. She just smiles in return.

There is a pause, in which Keigo takes her by a surprise. He slowly reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, and she blinks at the gesture. His eyes are on her firmly. Firmly, but gently.

"I am grateful." He says.

She doesn't ask what for.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_24 January, 2013._


End file.
